


The Best Laid Schemes

by Waterlilylf



Series: Homeland [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waterlilylf/pseuds/Waterlilylf
Summary: A newly-elected ESUN President, with the world at his feet. An assassin, hiding in the shadows. A moment where everything is about to change. AU. Yaoi.





	The Best Laid Schemes

Disclaimer: I own no part of Gundam Wing and make no financial profit from writing.

 

Note: this story is for my wonderful friend, Dyna Dee.   
Many thanks to Kaeru Shisho, for multiple read-throughs and a myriad of comments and suggestions. 

 

The Best Laid Schemes:

 

Chapter 1/5:

 

'The best laid schemes o' Mice and Men gang oft agley'. Robert Burns

 

He’d carefully timed his arrival just so; not early enough to stand out; not so late as to get caught up in the inevitable crowds. He politely stood back to let two young women take his place at the front of the queue, a pretty little show of gallantry that won him two brightly appreciative, admiring smiles; smiles that possibly wouldn't be quite so charming if they'd known he wasn't just being chivalrous, but wanted to check out procedure at the security desk. 

 

He waited a minute or two while the pair of secret service agents made a performance of checking out the contents of the ladies’ pointless little beaded bags, and asking one to remove a chunky gold bangle before going through the metal detectors.

 

Idiots, truly. 

 

One of the women had a jewelled comb in her hair that she could use to take someone’s eye out, or slash an artery, if she got close enough, and the other was wearing a ball gown with skirts wide enough to have had heavy artillery concealed beneath the voluminous layers. The agents didn’t even go through the most perfunctory motions of searching them.

 

His turn. They gave only a cursory glance to his gold-embossed invitation, and then made a show of checking his name, or at least the name printed on the invitation, against their guest list.

 

Fools, in their postcard-pretty, postage-stamp-sized fairytale of a kingdom. You’d think they would have learned by now how the rest of the big, bad world operated, but apparently not. His superbly- tailored clothes had been handmade in London, by a tailor in Saville Row, and he could put on the right, aristocratic accent when he wanted. He looked right and sounded right, and that meant you could do pretty much anything you wanted, in Sanc.

 

Well, anywhere, really, if you put on a good enough show.

 

He removed his dinner jacket, and held his arms out while the male agent – not even cute, to add insult to injury – quickly patted him down, apologising profusely for the inconvenience, for the fact that he’d been chosen for a random search. The worst body search in history it was; with fingertips barely skimming over arms and back, and not even attempting to go below the waist. Afterwards, Trowa smiled tranquilly for a photo, knowing the carefully-styled fall of hair over his left eye would incapacitate any facial recognition software programme in the universe.

 

Both agents wished him a good evening; the woman even held his jacket so he could slide it back on, blushing when he smiled at her, and showed him the way to the Grand Ballroom, as if he could miss the stream of people heading that way. 

 

Rank bloody amateurs; neither one gave any sign of recognizing him.

 

They’d only seen him going in and out of the palace a dozen times since that morning, but he’d been wearing an overall emblazoned with the logo of the maintenance crew and a baseball cap pulled low over his face, and as everyone knew, overalls and tool boxes served exactly the same purpose as invisibility cloaks. 

 

Idiots.

 

Just as well they were bloody incompetent, really, he thought, hiding a sudden, wry grin, given that on each of his last two trips he'd been pushing a wheelbarrow with a very dead body hidden under a pile of tarps and supplies. At least, they had bothered to check what was going in to the palace, but they hadn't given even the most cursory glance to what was going out. 

 

He could have made off with the crown jewels if he'd wanted, and on any other occasion, he might have considered it, just for the fun of the thing. 

 

Not today, though. 

 

There were Preventers coming out of the door leading to the North tower, just before the courtyard; two Asian guys. They weren’t in uniform but you could tell them a mile away, just from the way they moved. He knew the Chinese guy anyway; the one Zechs thought was so hot, another one of those little projects aimed at improving racial diversity in Preventers, and who was currently turning away from locking the door behind him. 

 

They didn’t give him more than a perfunctory glance, but he felt them watching as he walked past, that little prickle of knowing at the back of his neck, that feeling that had saved his life not a few times.

 

Shit.

 

He deliberately took his time walking down the corridor, stopping at one point to study a group of stuffed pheasants in a domed display case. It was a hideous thing, but the glass case offered a fairly good reflection of the way he’d come. Chang and the other one had turned away, looking back toward the main door at a group of giggly young women who were following him, and he breathed just a little easier.

 

No reason in the world for them to suspect anything about him, really, except they shouldn’t have been there.

 

Shit, squared. 

 

He rounded the corner, took a quick glance around – this stretch at least was clear of guards, as had been arranged – paused to allow an elderly couple to make their doddering way around the corner, and used a key to open the solid oak door to the East Tower, and ducked through before anyone else came down the corridor, locking it after him. He took the stairs at a run, a couple of minutes behind schedule now. 

 

Bloody Preventers boy scouts. 

 

The package was just where he’d left it, a little over two hours ago, before going out to change; to transform himself into a whole other person and test the security procedures, and, not quite incidentally, to remove a certain amount of collateral damage. He assembled the telescope first, using one hand to sweep the courtyard six storeys below, while the other put the rifle together, something he could do in darkness, half-asleep, blind-drunk or semi-conscious. In daylight, it was a doddle and he settled it against the stone parapet, leaning against the wall, and sliding off his jacket and the snowy white shirt underneath, leaving only the long-sleeved black t-shirt.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One. 

 

‘Status?’ A cool voice asked in his ear. 

 

‘In place. One problem. Two Prevvies outside the northern stairwell. They'd been up the tower.'

 

‘Who?’

 

‘Who do you think? Bloody Chang, and that new partner he's got. Isn’t he supposed to be stationed in the inner courtyard?’ 

 

‘Mm, yes, not that he ever does what he's supposed to. He’s very good, isn’t he?’ Zechs murmured fondly.

 

Trowa rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously? I don't think this is exactly the time to start singing Chang's praises, do you?' he snapped. 'And he hardly needed to be brilliant to work out the roof’s a danger point. They must be checking all the towers.' 

 

‘It was Yuy with him, yes?’ Zechs asked, suddenly brisk, 'The Japanese one? And yes, that area is supposed to be clear.’

 

Shit. To the power of whatever. 

 

'Want me to take care of it? There’s time.’

 

‘I’ll deal with it. Stay in position.’

 

‘Oh, man. I love it when you talk dirty.’

 

'You love everything,' Zechs said, teasing, and then dropped his voice. 'Don't worry. I've got it.'

 

Don't worry. Yeah, right. In what universe was he not going to worry? 

 

He took a deep breath, then another. It wasn't, in truth, terribly serious, he told himself; just something that was outside their plan.

 

Another thing. 

 

Just a coincidence, maybe. Two agents who'd maybe arrived early for their shifts, and found a good spot to stand and observe the partygoers, and do a couple of last minute security checks before the official ceremony started and they moved to their official posts. Fuck it. No way that was what they were doing; not with Chang involved, and he didn't believe in coincidences. Of course the towers were danger points; and if they checked out one, they were bound to check out the others. 

 

Another breath, held until it almost hurt, and then exhaled. They'd known it wouldn't all go as planned. They had contingencies. 

 

They had two bodies so far, and two bloody Preventers wanting to be heroes and he didn't believe in coincidences and never had. 

 

'All right,' Zechs said abruptly in his ear. 'Sorted. No other problems?'

 

'Not as such. Seriously, those secret service agents at the front door are clueless idiots. Wouldn’t have noticed if I’d been holding up a flashing neon sign saying I was a terrorist on an assassination job.’

 

Zechs laughed at his aggrieved tone. ‘Well, we’ve always known that that they’re just for window- dressing. And it’s not really their fault; they do have very clear orders from the princess not to make her guests feel uncomfortable. Did you sort out that other little problem?’

 

Trowa grinned; that was a typically understated way of describing it. ‘Yeah, I got them before they'd checked in with the catering manager; it'll be assumed they just didn't turn up for their shift. So hard to get reliable help these days,' he added gravely. 'Anyway, all cleared up.'

 

''Recycled too, I hope?'

 

'Well, naturally. Don't I always?' 

 

'Hmm. Let's see. There was that minor incident with the misplaced submarine.'

 

'Nearly six years ago,' he protested. 'Aren't you ever going to let me forget that?'

 

'Hmm, no, probably not,' Zechs considered, a very pronounced smirk in his voice. 'I have to go. Call me if anything else comes up.'

 

Trowa made a face. It wasn't like it had all been his fault, even, the submarine thing, but they just couldn't let it go. He took a few steps back from the open window, sighting down the barrel of his rifle. He had the best vantage point in the whole palace from here, high in the bell tower; it was why they'd chosen it. 

 

They’d done a couple of dry runs over the past two weeks, taking turns to be the one down in the courtyard with the camera, playing at being a curious, snap-happy tourist. They’d chosen the bell tower partly for its height, partly because of the angle of the sun in the sky at this time of day. Whoever was up there could look out, but was hidden in shadow if anyone looked up. There was matte-black finish on the gun and the scope, just in case, to throw off any reflection from the setting sun.

 

It was fine, he assured himself, looking down. It was all good. It would work.

 

It wasn't Geneva.

 

There was plenty of activity starting to kick off down in the courtyard. There were palace guards in those fancy, foofy uniforms, standing to attention for photographs or ushering guests to their assigned seats, all wholly conscious that, for the next few hours, the eyes of the universe would be trained on events taking place in the Royal Palace in Sanq City.

 

They didn’t know the half of it.

 

No one of any note on the podium yet, or in the VIP stands. With almost an hour to go until things got going in earnest, they’d all still be at the drinks reception inside the ballroom. Zechs would be in there too, somewhere; he had a special VIP pass, so he'd have a ringside seat in the inner sanctum, able to keep their target in view.

 

Trowa rested the gun on the ledge and picked up the scope, ‘scanning the growing crowd below. Mostly locals, he thought, all dressed up in their Sunday best for the big occasion. There were palace guards, agents from the Sanq secret service, and Preventers in uniform. Probably twice as many more in plainclothes, Trowa thought, but they were keeping a low profile, in keeping with Princess Relena’s orders that guests in her palace were not to be intimidated by a show of military force.

 

‘Relena Peacecraft, the terrorists’ new best friend,’ he muttered, not really expecting Zechs to be listening, but he laughed.

 

‘She is very young, you know.’

 

‘Yeah, and not likely to live much longer at this rate,’ Trowa said sourly, and then regretted it when he heard the other man’s quick gasp. ‘She’ll be fine. No one’s going to do anything to her.’

 

No one would dare, he reflected. Treize Khushrenada, the newly elected President of the ESUN, might be the focus of every rebel group in the universe, but the beautiful, idealistic young princess with her fairytale palace and her tragic past and her dreams of a perfect, peaceful universe was untouchable.

 

'How's it going with you? Everything all right?'

 

'Fine, yes. His Lordship is in his element,' Zechs said tartly. 'He's got half the European aristocracy queueing up to fawn over him.'

 

Trowa's mouth twisted. 'I can imagine he's loving that.'

 

‘Hmm. Yes. Look, nine o’clock. The girl in the red dress. She's just coming out into the courtyard.’

 

Trowa slid his eyes sideways, just for a second. He slept with women sometimes, if the mission called for it, but not out of choice. This one was attractive though; even if women weren’t his preferred partners, he could still appreciate them. ‘One of yours?’

 

‘Lucrezia Noin,’ Zechs said, letting that deep, velvety voice of his wrap lingeringly around every syllable. ‘I'm sure I've told you about her. I knew her at the Academy, years ago.’

 

‘What is she; a Preventer?’ Trowa shook his head and tutted reprovingly. ‘Forbidden fruit, my friend, you know that.’

 

‘Not yet, actually. Convenient little window of opportunity for me there. She’s just transferred from Mars, hasn’t been assigned anywhere yet. She’s very good.’

 

‘Mars,’ Trowa said dismissively. ‘What did she do there? Fight aliens?’

 

‘Don’t be such a snob,’ Zechs chided, smiling. ‘And no, not one of mine, not yet. Rumour says she prefers women these days.’

 

‘That the same rumour that says you prefer men?’ Trowa teased. ‘Or no, wait. That’s actually way more than just a rumour.’

 

‘Why limit oneself, ever? I thought that was your philosophy too.’

 

‘What d’you know about my philosophy?’

 

‘More than you think, possibly. You do occasionally talk in bed. Not very often, I grant you.’

 

‘I didn’t think you wanted me for my conversational skills, baby,’ Trowa parried, arch. They’d done this a hundred times; stake outs and ambushes and situations very similar to this one, one of them on a roof with a rifle and a target in his sights and the other running interference on the ground. They could maunder on about nonsense for hours, if necessary.

 

‘Oh, I’ve always wanted you for your very elaborate and diverse skill set.’

 

‘Mmmn.’ She was attractive enough, Lucrezia Noin, if your tastes lay in that direction. Ridiculous clothes, though. Why did women always have to burden themselves with flowing skirts? ‘So, your Martian lady, d’you think she can she run in that gown?’

 

‘Probably,’ Zechs observed, a little distractedly. ‘I wouldn’t particularly want her to run though.’

 

‘I can pass on references if you want, put in a good word,’ Trowa offered, moving his ‘scope on from the young woman in the dark red dress, and sweeping the growing crowds. 

 

Things starting to happen on the podium; a couple of techies checking out the microphones and a Preventer agent from Bomb Disposal leading a large German shepherd up the steps. 

 

He rolled his eyes. ‘God. Now they decide to become efficient.’

 

‘About five hours too late,’ Zechs agreed. ‘Don’t worry; they won’t find anything. It’s clear.’

 

‘Wasn’t worrying.’ Zechs was one of the two people he totally trusted in the world. Instead, he watched the magnificent dog quarter the dais, nose to the ground. ‘I’d like to have a dog, one day.’

 

‘I’ll get you a puppy for Christmas,’ his partner offered. 

 

‘Thanks,’ Trowa acknowledged, knowing it would never happen. Their lifestyles weren’t in any way conducive to owning a pet. Although…everything would be bound to change after today, one way or another, so who knew? 

 

'It will be all right, zalam,' Zechs told him, very low, and the endearment made him smile, in spite of everything; the nickname Zechs had given him when he'd been a kid, and hadn't had a proper name at all. 

 

Not Geneva. 

 

‘Here we go,’ Zechs said after a few minutes of shared silence, as the ballroom doors swung open and people began to move outside. 

 

VIPs resplendent in evening dress, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling on the women’s jewels, and on the medals of the men in dress uniform. He couldn't see Zechs yet, but he'd be one of the last people out, sticking as close to the new president as possible. 

 

He swung the telescope over the crowd anyway, and gave a low whistle. ‘Well. I’ll take one of those to go. Whipped cream on the side.’

 

‘What are you blathering about now?’ Zechs demanded.

 

‘Just enjoying the fabled scenery in Sanq. Much the same as yourself.’

 

He zoomed in on the slight blond he’d noticed crossing to his seat in the front row. Damn. Most of the other people were busily looking around, but he was staring fixedly ahead. Lovely back view though.

 

Given where his seat was, he had to be some sort of VIP in his own right, or maybe just fucking one for the privilege of a ringside seat at the first public speech of the newly-inaugurated president of the ESUN. 

 

First and last, quite possibly.

 

Eyes off the shiny toy, Barton, Trowa reprimanded himself. He wasn’t there to ogle the guest list, although realistically nothing was going to happen until Khushrenada himself appeared. He swung the 'scope in another circle, noting Zechs walking out of the ballroom, the sun shining on his swathe of silver-gilt hair, and his head bent slightly to talk to the young woman beside him.

 

He shook his head reprovingly, and then supposed he wasn't much better, drooling over random blonds. Giving in to sudden impulse, he pulled out his smart-phone and looked at the seating plan, working out where the blond was. Who he was.

 

Quatre Raberba Winner. One of those Winners, naturally. All of twenty-two and newly arrived on Earth, according to the Financial Times, two months before, to work in the new European subsidiary. Damn, he was really going to have to start scanning the business supplements for eye candy. Privileged little L4 blossom, Trowa thought dismissively, skimming over the details of private schools and ponies. First time on Earth since family holidays as a young child.

 

He’d probably spent his life being warned against men like Trowa. 

 

Any men, more likely, given where he was from.

 

He scanned a couple more photos – the front view was very appealing too – trying to blank out Zechs’ whining that it wasn’t nice to be selfish, that he had pointed out Lucrezia Noin, and was perfectly willing to share, that they were partners and supposed to share things.

 

‘Fine,’ he muttered at last, just to shut Zechs up. ‘The guy in seat 34.’

 

Zechs said nothing for a minute and then there was a sharp exhale of breath. ‘Oh yes. Very ornamental. And very definitely not the ninety-year-old Duchess of Padua, who’s supposed to have that seat.’

 

‘What?’ Trowa demanded sharply, and then relaxed when Zechs chuckled.

 

‘It’s fine. He’s been cleared. He must have friends in very high places, our Mr. Winner. Hardly surprising, given the way he looks. I imagine someone just wanted to improve the view in the front row. Which I have to say he does, quite effectively too.’

 

‘Fuck off, you. Finders keepers. I saw him first.’

 

‘It isn’t nice to be selfish,’ Zechs chided. ‘Caring is sharing, remember?’

 

‘Tough,’ Trowa retorted, surprising himself with the vehemence in his voice. Wasn’t like they hadn’t ever done a threesome; it was something that happened on a fairly regular basis. Wasn’t like Quatre Winner would ever be more than a silly little fantasy for either of them. ‘Turn around, baby,’ he crooned, staring down. ‘Look up. Quatre!’

 

He flung the name into the universe like a wish, an entreaty, and Quatre Winner whirled in his seat and looked straight up at him.

 

‘Oh, shit!’ Trowa stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and dropped the gun. ‘Fuck!’

 

‘Are you all right? What’s happening?’

 

‘I’m fine.’ God, he was way more on edge than he’d thought over all this. Letting himself get rattled by some guy turning his head to look around, like every other bloody person was doing, gawking at the crowds. Just a stupid coincidence. That was all. 

 

‘Are you sure?’’

 

‘Yeah. Just a bit strung up. Fuck. This is insane, isn’t it? We don’t get paid nearly enough for this.’

 

‘Well,' Zechs demurred. 'Actually, we do.'

 

'Yeah, maybe,' Trowa allowed. 

 

'And we do get certain fringe benefits. Lots of travel to exotic places. Sex in exotic places.’

 

Trowa grinned. ‘You know, I can think of at least two ways I could take that last sentence. And I really do love taking you.’

 

‘Mind on the job, darling,’ Zechs reproved him, but there was a definite smile in his voice. ‘Business before pleasure and all that.’

 

‘Yeah. Some fucking business, right?’ he went on glumly. Obviously, the lack of professionalism was making their lives significantly easier, but, as a professional himself, the whole security set up was so shoddy it made his teeth ache. ‘And half the Prevs down there are probably Colonial. Take him out themselves if they got the chance, save anyone else going to the trouble.’

 

Zechs laughed at him. ‘Well, you know what he’s always saying in those speeches of his. As an organisation, Preventers must be become more inclusive of minorities if it is to operate in today’s changing world. Quote, unquote. He’ll probably end up getting that on his headstone, given he’s putting down the welcome mat for all these Colonials, provided they’re stunningly attractive, naturally. Speaking of which, Yuy isn’t at all bad, is he?’

 

‘Didn’t really have much of a chance to look,’ Trowa said dryly. ‘Anyway, I thought it was Chang you liked. Not that I can ever keep up.’

 

‘Oh, you know I’m utterly smitten with the divine Wufei,’ Zechs said extravagantly. ‘Those eyes. Such a shame he’s off limits.'

 

They were pretty much allowed to do what – and who – they wanted, off duty, but Preventer agents were way, way off limits. Far too much of a security risk. They were supposed to keep occasional checks on the agency, on individual agents if required, but that was it. 

 

'Yeah,' Trowa muttered absently, concentrating very hard on watching the stage, and not the people seated in front of it. 

 

‘It will be all right, you know,’ Zechs said softly. 

 

‘It has to be, hasn't it?’ God. They’d spent weeks planning this. Months, really. It had to be all right.

 

‘Oh. I think we’re up.’ Zechs breathed. ‘Good hunting. Z out.’

 

‘Good hunting, yeah,’ Trowa responded. ‘T out.’


End file.
